I’ve just spent the last four hours binge-writing (oooo, I like that phrase) a movie. I made a goal a few months ago that I’d have a movie written by my 31st birthday on October 1st.
I’ve written movies before… But not actually. I more so used the script as a diary… A way to work out my inner problems via dialogue of two characters, both of whom represented aspects of myself.
I’ve written some good stuff… But most of it (Like, I wrote a whole first book before I wrote my published first book. But it was mostly brain drain + rubbish + emotional diarrhea) (It was also essential to write) was sticky brain goo.
See… I’ve learned that we’re all full of shit. We’re full of all the shit we’ve avoided feeling and processing and all the emotional poison we’ve taken on from other people… And this is what blocks us from true joy.
From “the flow.” From “the vortex,” as Abraham Hicks calls it.
I have honestly written over one million words toward attempted plays, books, movies, poems, love letters, and beyond. And I could trash 90% of it and feel zero loss.
Writing is my vehicle. It’s helped me get to where I am.
My dad used to ask me what I wanted to do with my life and I’d be like, “I want to write.” As if that was the destination. That was the end game.
And he’d of course say something brilliant like: “Well, write.”
And then I’d try, and then have a meltdown because I didn’t know what to write about because what if it was bad or what if it was wrong or what if no one liked it or what if it didn’t make sense or… or… or…
Once I allowed myself the room to be imperfect and messy (Thanks to Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, an amazing journey to push through creative blocks and perfectionism.), life began moving for me.
And now that I have retrained myself on how to handle blocks or lulls in inspiration or whiny moments of wanting to complain or sulk or gain sympathy with my words, I keep moving.
So that’s a neat trick. Momentum feels really nice.
The other trick I’ve recently learned? I’ve always been in such a rush to get… I don’t know… Anywhere but here, I guess.
And I’ve retrained myself (IT TOOK A WHILE and there may still be frazzled days where it’s a struggle) to be okay with stillness. Rest. Relaxation.
Sitting still used to drive me crazy. I’d have panic attacks. Truly. I had to go-go-go and run-run-run away from… Myself, I suppose.
Over the years, I’ve begun to fall in love with myself. And I really mean that. I spend quality time with myself and thoroughly enjoy it.
Alone time used to freak me out. I interpreted it as indication of my loser status… That no one liked me… I wasn’t good enough… Etc.
Now, alone time to me means “I’m so awesome that I’m thrilled in my own company.”
And it feels so fucking good.
It feels so good to trust my lulls in energy, rather than to fight them. It feels so good to allow myself to sleep in until 11 or have a lazy afternoon, even if it doesn’t match my original plans.
It feels so good to allow myself to be however I am in any given moment.
Cranky.
Sad.
Happy.
Hyper.
Confident.
Sassy.
Unconfident.
Scared.
Tired.
Lethargic.
Social.
Antisocial.
All of it. It’s all good. It’s all part of this journey.
By allowing myself this space to slow down… I receive downloads during my “sleep mode”.
Once I allow myself to slow down, it’s only a matter of time before a natural burst of energy stems from inside me.
It’s amazing, really. I’ll accomplish more in 2 hours of natural-energy time (post-relaxation) than I would have if I’d have pushed myself and not slowed down.
So. On that note, I’m going to rest. I’m gonna’ step out of my vehicle of writing, because my butt is legitimately getting numb… And that’s not a metaphor or analogy or comparison… It’s real life.
My computer chair could use a little extra padding.
I’m gonna’ watch 30 Rock until I don’t want to anymore, and then I’m going to do whatever I want next. Sleep. Eat. Dance. Stretch. Sing songs to Floyd where I replace every word with “Floyd” or “Puppy-dog”.
It’s all good.
Every single bit of it.
~J